


Floor Level

by Hannah_BWTM



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bad Things Happen Bingo, One Shot, Plans that unravel, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26615128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannah_BWTM/pseuds/Hannah_BWTM
Summary: Malcolm's search for their killer is a bit too successful. Our boy gets a bit hurt.Apparently it's the one year anniversary of Prodigal Son airing this week, so here's a bit of celebratory whump.Filling my first square on my BTHB card with Dragged by the Ankle.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	Floor Level

Feet running. Heart pounding. Chest heaving.

Every instinct in his body is telling him to run. 

Rational thought had flown out the window five minutes earlier, when the team's plan to split up had backfired spectacularly. A planned arrest of their suspect in his makeshift workshop had led to the team splitting up into pairs to cover the expansive factory's space. Malcolm had teamed up with JT, and they had stumbled on the amateur taxidermist’s prep room midway through his murder preparations. The man had surprised them and incapacitated JT before he knew what was happening, and had started after Malcolm not long after, sledgehammer in hand. 

Now Malcolm found himself running as fast as his feet would carry him, screaming "GIL! DANI!" at the top of his lungs through the dark, echoing space. 

Malcolm hadn't managed to shake Taxi Man yet, heavy footsteps shadowing his every twist and turn. Blindly darting around corner after corner, he had no idea where anyone else was, nor if he’d started running back towards JT. 

Left foot. Right foot. Look back. Shout. 

Adrenaline spurs Malcolm on, and the next corner reveals a door, leading to where he knew not. He doesn't stop to think about where it could lead, instead running into it at full force. It doesn’t budge. 

Malcolm bounces off the door and on to the floor, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. The steps behind him were too close, meaning the only way was forward. He tries the door again, heaving his full weight on to the solid steel. He’s surprised when the door thumps back, and a muffled voice shouts his name. 

"BRIGHT!!" 

"DANI! HE’S HERE! THE DOOR, I CAN'T-" 

The rest of the sentence is cut off as the mallet of a sledgehammer crashes into his back. While he focused on the door he missed the sound of the steps behind him stop. Taxi Man had caught up. Malcolm feels two ribs crack as the wind is knocked out of him again, his wool vest thankfully obscuring the sound and he hits the floor. Before he has time to gather himself Taxi Man swings the sledgehammer towards his right knee, his patella shattering instantly. Malcolm lets out an anguished cry as their killer crouches down beside him. 

"Now, now, can't have you running off anymore, can we? Let's get a good look at you." The man smirks. His eyes rake over Malcolm’s body as a collector would survey a new piece, and he mutters to himself in approval, "Excellent skin tone, lovely definition, and those eyes. Yes, I can work those. Come on then, let's head back." 

The killer picks Malcolm’s good leg up by the ankle and spins him around so Malcolm’s head is facing the door. He can hear the frantic thuds as his team try to reach him. He yells out one last time as they round the corner, before he loses touch with them once again. 

As he's dragged across the floor Malcolm reaches out for something, anything to defend himself with. His fingers find no purchase on the smooth concrete, and the longer the killer holds on to his ankle the more it feels like the bones are separating from his foot. He twists desperately to try and free his foot from the man's hold, but all it earns him is another swing from the sledgehammer into his shattered knee bone. As the edges of Malcolm’s vision white out from pain he can hear the killer chortle to himself as he readjusts his grip on Malcolm’s ankle. 

"You’re a squirrely little thing, I'll give you that. Good thing I've got experience with squirrels." 

Satisfied with his new arrangement Taxi Man grunts to get some momentum, then it’s back to being pulled along the dusty ground, ruining yet another jacket in Malcolm’s wardrobe. 

With his bad leg dangling awkwardly Malcolm tries to find a comfortable angle to rest his broken knee. He can’t find one. He resorts to breathing through his nose and casting his mind back to what he could see of the killer’s den before they were discovered. Benches full of tools, glass jars of preserving fluid and a set ready for posing the victims for photographs awaited him. None of this was good news. Malcolm looks around from the view on the floor and spies a sign that he recognised from their search earlier, they weren’t far from the workshop. Not knowing what else to do Malcolm calls out for Dani one more time in the hopes she can hear him. 

The silence is deafening. 

“Home sweet home, let’s get you ready!” Taxi Man exclaims. He drops Malcolm’s leg with little pomp or circumstance and heads to a table full of syringes. Not wanting to wait to find out what is in them Malcolm’s head darts around in a circle looking for some sort of weapon. An old wrench is just within his reach. After a small shuffle he grabs the tool from the shelf, but before he can wield it a boot crashes into his hand, sending the wrench flying. 

“Crafty little squirrel, aren’t you? I was going to start with your friend, but you’ve made it quite clear you need to be preserved first.” The killer decides. 

“Nobody needs preserving today. We can help you, just hear us out.” Malcolm suggests. 

“You don’t understand, I have a schedule to keep. This calendar won’t make itself you know.” 

Calendar. That explains the set behind him. 

“Now, my squirrel, hold still for a moment.” The killer jabs Malcolm with a needle, and he starts to lose feeling in his arms and legs. Great for the broken bones, not so good for saving himself. Next he hefts Malcolm on to the workbench, positioning his work lamps just so to maximise the lighting for his work. The man hums to himself as he goes, while Malcolm takes a look around the room. He spies JT sprawled on the floor, blood oozing out of a head wound and eyes closed. 

“Is he alive?” Malcolm breathes. 

“Your friend? He is, for now. The head wound is a bit unfortunate, but I’ve worked with road kill before. A squishy skull is nothing new. Now, let’s get a good look at you.” The killer starts taking a pair of scissors to Malcolm’s shirt, eager to see the canvas beneath all the finery. 

Outside the room there’s an echo of a bang, and Malcolm’s heart skips a beat in the hopes of being found. Unfortunately the killer hears it too, and as the sound of shouting gets closer he walks calmly towards the steel door and closes it. As he finds a steel bar to reinforce the door Malcolm’s irregular heart rate is replaced with his stomach falling to the floor. Any rescue through that door will take longer than it would have a minute ago. 

It’s time he doesn’t have. 

Taxi Man rubs his hands with glee as he walks back towards Malcolm. 

“Righty ho, my squirrel. I don’t think we’ll be disturbed for a while. Let’s see if I can’t get you camera ready.” 

Malcolm keeps his eyes focused on JT, willing him to wake up and stop their killer. He doesn’t feel the IV line go in, nor the first slice from the scalpel. His eyes start to get heavy, and although he can hear the banging on the door it’s too hard to call out for help anymore. 

“So beautiful, you’ll be my prettiest one yet.” is the last thing he hears before darkness claims him. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing PSon fic community, it's been a pleasure to get to know you all over the last few months. You can find me on the PSon Trash server if you want to talk shop about all things Prodigal Son.


End file.
